


Busted

by luluxa



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluxa/pseuds/luluxa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to keep a secret when your name is Jeremy Clarkson and you're genetically wired to cock up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

It's the stupidest way to be outed. Stupidest. Even more so since Jeremy does it himself.  
  
He gets up in the morning, woken up by James's deafening snoring, and proceeds to take a picture, posting it on Twitter right away. _Sleeping here_ , he types blearily, _is like sleeping under a speeding train_.  
  
He then goes to make some coffee, still oblivious and spaced out, and it doesn't occur to him he did something idiotic even when he reads the tenth comment to his tweet, asking, what the fuck is he doing in James's bed.  
  
_That's my bed_ , Jeremy types with irritation.  
  
And then it downs on him in a rush.  
  
Before he said _that_ there was a chance of denying everything and turning into a joke. Now he's made it absolutely fucking clear.  
  
Jeremy groans, dropping his face in his palms. Fuck. Oh fuck.  
  
Or maybe he can still claim James was shitfaced and missed his quarters?  
  
Jeremy opens his Twitter again, now overflowing with incredulous demands to tell whether he and James are gay and shagging.  
  
Yeah, they are. They bloody are, and it was a rather well-kept secret.  
  
Jeremy stares at the picture he's taken and there's no fucking deniability. James's shirt is hanging neatly from a chair near the bed, there's a book on WWII planes tucked under his pillow, and he's clutching Jeremy's spare reading glasses. Bloody domestic, the picture is saying in block letters. Fucking _married_.  
  
Well. He glances guiltily at the bedroom door. James is not going to be pleased. No one is going to be pleased. Except for the tabloids, of course, but otherwise, fucking no one.  
  
They are going to be rolled in shit and fucking feathers and made a spectacle of, and god only knows how many of their fans they are going to lose because of the persistent homophobia. James will go defensive and sarcastically irritated, of course, Jeremy knows him too well to expect anything else, but the constant pressure of attention and ridicule... Oh, Jeremy knows that one. It breaks the strongest people and the strongest bonds. The thought twists his insides into a knot.  
  
He can't really school his face into something passable when James walks into the kitchen five minutes later, yawning and dishevelled. Any other morning, Jeremy would drag him on his lap and annoy with sloppy kisses, and he can see James bracing himself for it. Then he frowns when Jeremy just smiles wryly.  
  
"Are you alright?" James asks worriedly. "Should I bring over the pharmacy?"  
  
Jeremy snorts. "Yeah, you might get some sedatives for yourself."  
  
James's worry replaces with pressed lips immediately. "What did you do?"  
  
Jeremy sniffs and rubs his nose guiltily. "Check my Twitter."  
  
Casting him suspicious glances, James goes for his phone – and the sodding reading glasses, when the fuck will he learn to keep the track of his own? He stares at the screen for what feels like eternity, face blank.  
  
"Are you going to murder me now?" Jeremy mutters, looking at the floor.  
  
James sighs. "What would be the bloody difference? You'd just smell worse and talk less."  
  
Jeremy risks a glance at him. "I suppose that would be an improvement."  
  
For a long moment James just looks at him with his head tilted, like a parent who hasn't got enough moral strength left to punish his badly behaving kid. Jeremy's shoulders sink along with his heart. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe James finally got too fed up to provide back up on yet another stupid thing Jeremy did.  
  
When Jeremy is about to say something else moronic, James finally moves – to sit on his lap and stroke his hair, making Jeremy almost sob with relief. He hugs James closer. "Sorry," he whispers.  
  
"I didn't like hiding much," James says in between planting little kisses to Jeremy's temple. "There's privacy and then there's paranoia. I'm too old to overthink every bloody thing I say or do."  
  
Jeremy nods, the knot in his insides dissipating slowly. It's not the end of the world, they'll be fine.  
  
His phone beeps, showing a message from Hammond.  
  
" _You muppet_ ," he reads it aloud to James. " _Good luck_."  
  
"Oh, we're gonna need it." James snorts. "Maybe also a nuke to drop it on The Daily Mail preemptively."  
  
Jeremy huffs. "Maybe if we just ignored everyone and went to Italy," he suggests. "And stayed there until everyone got bored –"  
  
"Excellent idea," James says, not letting him finish. "I'll book the tickets."  
  
Jeremy smiles. They have a whole week of filming ahead of them, but maybe after that.  
  
Three kisses later James gets tired of cuddling and escapes to take a shower and Jeremy makes another cup of coffee. The day goes on.


End file.
